Chasing The Dragon
by Tehri
Summary: For a long time, Arthur has dreamt about a golden dragon with blue eyes. For all this time, he has been chasing this dragon's "human" form; but perhaps it is time to give up hope? Or will the dragon refuse to let him go? - T just to be safe


**Just a disclaimer: Hetalia and its characters belong to Hidekaz Himaruya, not me.**

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Sometimes, he wondered why it wouldn't just end. Why the world was crumbling slowly, and not yet falling. Why nations did not falter in their steps towards redemption for past sins, why they refused to be held back. Their people were unaware of it all, naturally. All they would see were normal men and women who went about their business and worked hard. All they saw were humans with emotions and needs, just like themselves. Because they didn't know? Or was it because they didn't want to see anything else? Humans always were afraid of what they didn't understand. The leaders of the nations knew, of course, and kept it a secret. Not because they were used to it, but because they did not wish people to panic or try to find these men and women who were so special and so vital... Sometimes he wondered why he even bothered with them. Humans had harmed him so much, humans had given him so many scars, so much pain...

His body was marked with his history, history that was far too heavy on his shoulders and his mind. He felt slowed down by it, like an old man... Old. Yes, he was old, wasn't he? But still so young, compared to some others. But yes, he was old. And he knew far too well that he couldn't deny it, no matter how much he wanted to. Every time someone called him "old man" and he instantly replied with that he was certainly not old, he could see fleeting images, memories, of everything he had been through in his life. He could always feel the weight on his mind and body get heavier whenever the words passed over his lips. Why did he deny it? Why would he deny anything about his past? It was useless, he still knew that it had happened, and he had never liked lies. He knew so well that people liked to call him a liar, knew so well that he _did_ lie more than he should. But he needed that safety; he needed to know that it was alright for him to hide away for a while, hide his heart and his thoughts from the world's ever watching eyes. And it was no use trying to speak to his siblings either, but some nations had apparently not realised that. The older ones of the Isles would always come with the same answers. That they didn't know, that it was not for others to know, that it was a phase... They knew, but did not take the opportunity to speak about what their little brother had told them. They knew the pain, after all. They knew why he was longing for his golden days, despite all the pain he had felt. He wanted to be young again, wanted to be that little child who didn't know about this kind of pain and hatred and fear... The child who wasn't hated by anyone.

He didn't want to be hated. But his personality had made it so difficult to find love; he had a habit of pushing people away, telling people that he didn't need them and wouldn't ever need them. He never allowed himself to get too close to anyone. Very few had been able to see past this, see why he did it and why he was scared. Because that was the problem. He was scared, scared of hurting others, scared of getting hurt himself... So instead of getting too involved, he kept his distance. But when he finally wanted to end that behaviour, when he truly wanted to be close to someone, that person kept up a cheerful mask, and said that he must be joking. The words were just as cheerful as the smile, but those eyes were confused and worried... So he stayed away again. He stayed away, and yet tried to get close. But every time, either his own fear of being hurt or that person's clueless words and confused gaze drove him a little further away. This person, the object of his sudden affections, was like a dragon he couldn't defeat or tame. He never felt like a knight. No, rather he was a peasant, chasing after the being that hurt him so in the past, desperate to get close and at least touch those brilliant glimmering scales before he had to die. To do what others hadn't... But that wasn't true, it wasn't true, and he knew it.

Others had touched the scales, and touched even more. Others were allowed to get that close. Everyone but him. He was the sole person who was kept on a distance, the only person who couldn't come close to the dragon. That cheerful and careless dragon that seemed to have a true and open smile to spare for everyone, except him. Around him, the cheerful behaviour seemed so forced... It had been this way ever since he had attempted to explain what he felt and what he wanted. And it hurt so much, it hurt more than he could express in words. He wanted to say "please forget about it, it was nothing, I was stupid", but the words were so empty. He had tried to say it, but they wouldn't pass over his lips. Every time he tried, he instead ended up insulting the dragon, which made everything so much worse. He never wanted to harm the poor thing, the being that seemed to carry the world on its back; he only wanted to help, to take some of the burden away from him... But he couldn't be near him. He couldn't. Not without doing something to hurt him... He wouldn't be able to keep this up any longer, he needed to let it go. He needed the dragon to stop reminding him about everything. He needed the dragon to disappear from his life if he was going to survive at all.

Arthur woke with a startled gasp and sat up in his bed, staring with wild eyes around the room. Such an odd dream... But typical. It was similar to every dream he'd had during the past months, and it was getting painful. He took a deep breath and leant back, trying to calm himself. Tears gathered in his eyes when he thought about what he had dreamed about; he had been standing on a cliff, speaking to a dragon with golden scales and sky blue eyes. He remembered the words he had spoken so well, far too well. And the dragon had laughed, actually _laughed_ at him. He had fallen from the cliff, only to be caught by humans with appearances suspiciously alike to his siblings; they smiled at him, told him to watch his step, held him close and allowed him to cry and ramble on... And the dragon flew away, still laughing, to join his kin. No one looked back at the crying man who hid his face from the world and cried in the arms of those he could call his siblings.

"Why were you so stupid," he whispered as he finally gave in and allowed the tears to fall. "Why did you ever tell him? Stupid Albion... Stupid, stupid, stupid...!"

He rolled over and buried his face in the pillow, screaming into it. It hurt, it hurt so much, and he only wanted it to stop, oh gods, he wanted it to stop, he wanted everything to go away, he wanted to be a child again, why did he ever say anything, why hadn't he kept his damn mouth shut for once...!

* * *

That England was late for a meeting was highly unusual. He was always on time, actually arrived before everyone else. But this time, he was already half an hour late, and Ludwig was getting annoyed.

"_Bitte_, sit down," he sighed. "Let's just get this over with already. We can't wait for England."

Just as he said this, however, the door opened and Arthur stepped in.

"I apologise," he said quickly. "I overslept."

The other seven nations stared at him in surprise, taking in his appearance. His hair was messier than usual, a typical sign of that he had only just gotten out of bed. His clothes were creased and in a disarray, and his face was pale. His eyes were red, as if he had been crying...

"Ah... Well..." The German stared for another moment. "It's alright, England, just sit down already."

Thus, the G8-meeting got started. Some of the participating glanced at the Brit every now and then, a little worried that he would collapse. But Arthur was calm and relaxed, only snapping once or twice at a silly suggestion made by a certain American. Other than that, he was very quiet. But once it all was over, he let out a seemingly relieved sigh; he was glad that it was done.

"England-san...?" The Englishman glanced briefly at the soft-spoken Asian. "Is everything alright...?"

For a moment, Arthur remained silent, considering if he should tell the truth or lie... But then he suddenly remembered his dream, remembering how that familiar golden dragon had joined with its own kin; one of those dragons had resembled Kiku in some way, and the golden one had been flying so close to it...

"Please, Kiku," he said, getting to his feet and gathering his papers. "Leave me be. I'm tired, that's all."

The other nations blinked in surprise and stared as he made his way out from the room. But as soon as he was out of sight, he broke into a run and raced back to his room. Tears burned in his eyes, and there was only one thought in his head.

_Don't cry in front of them. Don't cry. Don't let _him_ see you cry._

He didn't want to think about the dream, but it was the only thing that was clear in his mind. He ripped the door to his room open and rushed inside, slamming it shut behind him. Papers hit the floor, and within a moment he had kicked off his shoes, tossed his jacket into a corner and thrown himself onto the still unmade bed, burying his face in the pillow for the second time that day. He bit back the sobs and shuddered violently.

"I don't want this anymore," he whispered, hearing his own voice crack slightly as a sob mixed with the weak words. "I don't want this...!"

Another shudder ran through his body, and he finally began to sob. He wanted someone to cling to at the moment, but his siblings weren't there. They were still at home, probably just waiting for him to return so that they could bug him a bit more. Normally, they hated to see him cry, so they would try to comfort him... But right now, he was alone, with no one there to hold him and let him cry on their shoulder. It wasn't as if anyone _here_ would let him do that. He took a deep, shaky breath, trying to calm himself.

"Stop crying," he told himself weakly. "Stop crying now, it's not helping..."

"_Non_, _Angleterre_, it really isn't."

Arthur blinked in surprise and turned his head, seeing how France quietly stepped into the room and closed the door firmly behind him. He didn't have his usual sly smirk playing on his lips now; in fact, he looked almost as serious as if someone had just died.

"Are you going to tell me, _mon ami_," he asked silently as he stepped over to the bed and sat down on the edge, merely watching the crying Englishman. "Are you ever going to tell me? I did help out with raising you, but you never share any of your thoughts with me... _Mon cher petit frère_..."

Arthur shuddered. He hadn't heard the Frog call him that for years, not since the World Wars... He only called the Englishman "my dear little brother" when he truly was worried about him. And the hand that gently touched his shoulder did confirm that.

"I hate this..." The words were quiet and filled with bitterness. "I hate this, Francis... Why am I always left behind? I care much for passed days, but so what? T-that doesn't mean that I'm useless, it doesn't mean that I have to be left behind...!" He took another deep breath and sat up. "It's like they're mocking me all the damn time. Like I'm someone who should've dropped dead ages ago, just because my bloody Empire disappeared."

Francis frowned a little, listening as Arthur rambled on about everything that was bothering him. He was old; not as old as Yao (the Chinese man was bloody ancient), but he felt much older than he was. He couldn't let go of everything that had hurt him, he just couldn't, no matter how people told him that he had to. It didn't help him. He didn't want to be hated, but that seemed to be all he got. When he finally fell quiet, he stared down at his pale hands, not even moving. Francis watched him in silence, sensing that it wasn't quite over yet.

"I've had such odd dreams," the Englishman suddenly whispered, as if he was afraid that the dream would show up in front of his eyes if he spoke too loud. "It's always about a dragon... A gigantic dragon... Much bigger than Wales's red one... And... And it's golden, and has sky blue eyes..." At this, the Frenchman leant a little closer and put an arm around the slightly younger man's shoulders, to show that he was there to support him. "This dragon... I... It's different in every dream, but the he always ends up laughing at me and flying away... Once it was during the Blitz... And then during the Cold War, and he looked so... angry... He was staring at another dragon, a black one, that sat on a cliff... They were only staring, nothing else... Every now and then, they'd... speak to each other..." Arthur closed his eyes; he wasn't certain about why he told the Frog about this at all, but he needed to let it out. "They always spoke politely and pleasantly, but there was so much hatred behind the words... I could practically _feel_ it... And the golden one turned and spoke to me, asking if I would help him... If I would help him fight the black one if it came to that... I never had a chance to answer, because the black one suddenly flew away... And the golden laughed and flew off in a different direction..."

Francis slowly began to thread his fingers through the messy blonde hair, still not speaking. He didn't want to interrupt, not now when Arthur was actually speaking to him about something personal.

"This dragon," Arthur continued. "I... I didn't start to dream about it _every_ night until after..." He bit his lip for a moment, hesitating. "I... I told America... I told him w-what I felt... He laughed at me... S-said that I must be joking... I... I actually thought that he would listen to me, but..." The shaky breath he drew was almost immediately broken by a sob. "I... A-America is the dragon, Francis... He... He's the dragon who'll let anyone else close to him, b-but never me. Every t-time I get close enough to t-touch a scale, h-he flies off before I can lift my hand..."

That was the core of the problem. It wasn't that the world left the Brit behind, it was that the man who practically _led_ the world did. Francis could not deny that America was good at hogging attention; the problem would be that everyone forgot about the rest of the world when he did. Especially Japan. Despite being polite, the Asian had continued to support the younger nation in everything, which the American seemed to like a lot. When Arthur came with objections and said that it was a bad idea, bringing some sense into the discussion, he'd be shot down by a grinning brat who continuously pointed out that Kiku liked the idea.

"I understand, _mon cher_," the Frenchman whispered softly, holding the other man close. "I know it hurts... But maybe you must accept it, after all. Either you accept it, or you try to stay away from him for as long as possible." He smiled softly at the confused look the emerald eyes gave him. "You don't talk to him or anything, _Angleterre_. Treat him like air, as if he didn't exist. He loves attention, and he does tease you a lot, _mon cher petit frère_. Perhaps it would work."

Arthur bit his lip and nodded slowly. The Frog had a point; it was a childish way of dealing with the situation, but it just might work when the target was America. The hard part would be to actually go through with it. He would never admit it, but the young nation was actually very good at pulling off the "kicked puppy"-look. And it was always so damn hard to say no...

"I could try," he said quietly. "But I don't think that it will make him care."

* * *

The following two months were, to say the least, very odd. Already the first week, the rumour spread via Canada and Japan that America was upset. _Very_ upset.

"I don't know what's going on," Matthew would say, hugging Kumajirou, his polar bear, a little tighter. "He won't say anything else than that someone's treating him badly..."

"He told me that someone is deliberately ignoring him," Japan would explain. "But he would not tell me who, unfortunately..."

Which led to the current situation. Matthew sat in Francis's living room, watching the older nation pour himself a glass of red wine.

"This is about your brother, you said," the Frenchman said calmly as he sat down. "Someone's ignoring him, and he's angry about it?"

Matthew nodded quickly, a slightly miserable look on his face.

"You know that he doesn't like being ignored," he said softly. "But he doesn't react like this unless it's someone he likes to be around..."

Francis let out a chuckle and sipped his wine, fixing the Canadian with a levelled gaze. His blue eyes sparkled with mirth.

"_Oui_, I know who it is, _Mathieu_," he smirked. "There is only one nation who is stubborn enough to continue to ignore _l'Amérique_ for so long. And he happens to live just across the English Channel."

For a moment, Matthew looked as if he was about to laugh; but the laughter died on his lips when he thought about it. It did make sense, in a way... Alfred loved to tease his old mentor, and Arthur absolutely hated it when it happened. So it wasn't really that strange if the Englishman had finally had enough and decided to ignore the brat.

"But... Would he really...?"

"He would, _Mathieu_. He is already doing it. He's keeping away from your brother, no matter what he must do. What happens next is up to _l'Amérique_, and no one else."

That something had happened was quite obvious during the next world meeting. Alfred was teasing Arthur even more than usual, but the older nation calmly ignored him. As if he had never even heard him. This, in turn, made the American put on an annoyed pout and glare at him. Finally, the verbal assaults were too much for the other nations to take. China got to his feet, silencing America in the middle of a loud tirade.

"That is most unfair, aru," the Asian said sharply. "England has done nothing wrong to you, America! You treat him worse than usual, and he just sits there and takes it, aru! How do you think he feels, aru?!" He turned to the Englishman and smiled. "England, are you alright? I hope you didn't take his insults badly..."

Emerald eyes looked up at the older nation, and a small smile spread on Arthur's lips.

"I don't know what you're talking about, China," he replied smoothly. "I haven't heard any insults in this room today."

People stared. Suddenly, the rumour about someone ignoring America was confirmed; and it was _England_, of all people, who did it. England, the man who some had believed was incapable of ignoring the boy he once raised... A "boy" who was, at the moment, seemingly ready to launch an attack at the older man to catch his attention.

"What the fuck, Iggy," Alfred yelled angrily. "I'm standing right here!"

Arthur didn't even blink. He kept his eyes on China, an inquisitive look in them. But if one looked carefully, there seemed to be a hint of sadness as well.

"Can we carry on the meeting now," he asked quietly. "I'd like to get this over with."

The meeting went faster than one would've expected. But as everyone began to leave, Alfred grabbed Arthur's hand and quickly dragged him off. The older man did not protest; he only quirked one eyebrow in a silent "What the hell do you think you're doing?" as he was shoved into an empty room. As soon as the door closed, the American began to glare angrily at him again.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing, England," Alfred growled as he stepped closer, getting only an empty look in reply at first. "Don't fucking pretend that you don't know what the hell I'm talking about! What the hell have you been doing these two months, huh?! Why have you been ignoring me?!"

Arthur turned away, slowly walking over to a window; the sky had slowly begun to turn grey as clouds gathered, and the first few raindrops began to fall. How ironic... A very small smile appeared on his lips again, and he tilted his head slightly. He could practically _feel_ the glare the younger man was giving him, burning into him. But he wasn't certain about what he should say. The truth? Or should he lie and save the small pieces of his heart that still existed? He closed his eyes for a moment.

"I thought that you could handle that," he said quietly. "The rest of the world pays attention to you. What does it matter if I don't? What does it matter if I choose to look to my own country for a while? Why would that get to you, America? Or am I not allowed to care for myself and my siblings instead of you?"

Alfred blinked and stared at him; why wasn't he yelling...? Normally, Arthur would've snapped at him and told him to mind his own business... Now, he just looked so... sad. As if the world was resting on his shoulders and constantly reminding him of things he had done...

"I-if you had just told me, then maybe I wouldn't be mad at you!" Hah. There was no way the old man could handle those words. He never liked to hear that something was his fault. "If you had just _said_ that you didn't want to talk to me...!"

"_Don't_ try to pin this on me, Jones."

Arthur spun around; he wasn't glaring, but from the use of _that_ name, Alfred could tell that he was serious. Whatever it was that had made the old man ignore his former colony had most likely been something that had upset him. A lot.

"I won't accept it anymore," he said calmly. "I won't. I don't want to be treated like an old _fool_ only because that's what you keep calling me. So many keep siding with you, simply because I'm of the _old_ world, because I'm not like _you_. You always keep teasing me, you always call me old, you claim that I'll never get anywhere with this attitude of mine. Well, I'm fine with this attitude." He smiled again, but there was no real emotion in it. "I'm fine with being like this. I _like_ taking it easy, I like to read, I like to stay inside and drink my tea, even if you think that it's something only an old man should do. I _prefer_ the old days, I miss being a privateer, I miss sailing, and I miss being a _knight_...!" He clenched his fists slightly. "You love to tease me about all those things, I know that far too well, but I don't give a damn about what you say. I'm not you, America, and I don't want to be. Because if there's something I loathe, then it's insensitive bastards like you. People who don't even _try_ to understand what someone else is feeling."

For some reason, the words seemed to get to the younger man, who stared in surprise at the island nation. It had all been harmless teasing, hadn't it...? He had never _tried_ to make others side with him; he had never wanted Arthur to seem like someone they shouldn't care about... They were choosing on their own, weren't they...? It wasn't Alfred's fault... But it _was_ Alfred's fault that Arthur was feeling this way, it seemed. Because he was certainly the one who had been teasing and insulting the older man.

"You don't listen to what people are saying," Arthur continued, his voice suddenly very quiet. "You only mocked me when I... when I tried to say something... When I was baring my _soul_ to you... And you laughed right in my face. Did you ever think about how I felt? Rejection is never easy to deal with, Alfred, but I could've handled it much better if you hadn't laughed at me."

The American cringed slightly, remembering the time when Arthur had asked to speak with him. He hadn't known what to say when the Brit suddenly uttered those three words. So while his mind raced, desperately trying to find something good to say, his mouth had said the words that he hated so much, accompanied by loud laughter. He had actually been happy about the confession, but he had not known how to say it. And before he had been able to say anything at all, he had done something incredibly stupid. He hated himself for it, and he knew that Arthur had been hurt. Every time he had tried to say something about it, every time he had seen that hope in the Englishman's eyes, he had managed to shatter it again.

"Arthur..." He spoke quietly as well, trying to soothe the now shivering England. "Arthur, I... I never..." He took a deep breath and tried to gather his thoughts properly; screwing up was _not_ an option! "I never... wanted to hurt you... It was... I wasn't thinking... Or well... I _was_, but I didn't want to say that to you... It just happened..."

Arthur gave him a bitter smile and shook his head.

"Things don't ever "just happen", you stupid boy," the island nation said. "There is always a reason. And right now, that reason is that you didn't accept what I feel, so you rejected me. So... I suppose that this is goodbye, at least in this aspect." He walked past the dumbfounded American and reached for the door handle. "I'll see you at next meeting, America."

* * *

Alfred more or less glared at the TV; he didn't really watch the show that was on, his mind was in a completely different place. Arthur had said goodbye to him, and left him in that room. The Brit had apparently not meant goodbye _goodbye_, but rather... goodbye "I am never going to be this stupid again"... They _had_ spoken to each other after that, and Arthur had gone back to his normal self. But there was something missing. That usual spark was gone, that flame that always made the older man continue the arguments. Lately, it had always ended much faster than usual. Arthur had seemed so subdued, so quiet... Then the next meeting came around. While Arthur acted normal and got into fights with France as usual, it looked like his movements were slower and more careful than usual. But when the Frenchman managed to grab the slightly younger nation's shoulder and dug his nails down, Arthur let out a loud yelp, flinched and backed away, growling like a wild animal.

"_Angleterre_..." Francis frowned a little bit. "What has happened to your shoulder? There's something wrapped around it..."

"There's nothing, you stupid frog," Arthur hissed in response, his cheeks paling ever so slightly. "My shoulder just hurts a little bit."

But as the meeting progressed, Alfred began to keep his eyes on a steadily growing dark spot on the Brit's suit.

_France said that there was something wrapped around his shoulder_, he thought. _And... He said that it hurt... Could that really be..._

"England-san..." Japan's voice broke through Germany's presentation. "W-what is... There's something... Your shoulder..."

Arthur blinked and touched his shoulder; when he looked at his hand, he found that it was stained with red. He stared for a moment before quickly getting to his feet.

"Excuse me," he said hastily. "I'll be back later."

He ran out; Alfred frowned a little bit and stood up as well, following the older man without caring about the surprised voices that called out for him. Something had happened, and he wanted to know what. Arthur was bleeding, obviously... But why? What could have happened? He ran after the Brit, following him up to his room. The door was, as he expected, locked, and there was those red stains on the handle, showing so clearly that he was in there.

"England," he called out, knocking on the door. "England, are you okay? Can I come in?" There was no reply at first, so he knocked again, thinking that the older man had not heard him. "England! Come on, Iggy, open up! I know you're in there!"

A half strangled noise could be heard; a sob, maybe...? Or could it be something else? He frowned and tried the handle again.

"Arthur," he pleaded. "Come on... Please, open up... I just want to help, okay? I won't do anything else, I promise. Please? Please, just let me in? Arthur?"

"Go away, you bloody plonker."

The voice was quiet, but still audible. But, as one could predict, Alfred promptly ignored the words and instead simply destroyed the lock and went in. Much to the surprise of one shirtless Englishman, who frantically attempted to cover something on his shoulder.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?!" Arthur glared angrily at him, but there was a certain "deer in the headlights"-look in his eyes. "W-what do you want?! Don't just run into someone's room like that!"

The American crossed over to the bed with two long steps, calmly forcing Arthur's hand away from the shoulder; a large bleeding wound stared back at him, and he blinked in surprise. When had he gotten this wound? It looked so fresh...

"Arthur," he breathed, still not looking away. "When... When did you get this...? What happened to you...?"

Arthur looked away, small tears slowly starting to make their way down his cheeks. He hadn't meant for anyone to see it at all, and France grabbing it was something unexpected. But it had happened, and now this stupid git wanted to know what it was. He wasn't _demanding_ an answer, but the childish pleading, the begging, was still there.

"I fell," the Englishman said softly. "I fell and managed to cut myself on a knife, about two days ago. Why? It's not as if it's something bad, I just need to clean it a little. And wrap it up properly."

He smiled faintly, trying to look at least fairly normal. But it seemed that the brat refused to believe him.

"Did you do that to yourself," Alfred asked, his voice suddenly sharp. "Did you hurt yourself, Arthur? Christ, what the hell?! Why would you do that?!"

Emerald eyes stared for a moment before slowly closing, not wanting to meet the concerned look in the sky blue ones. It seemed that an explanation to his admittedly odd behaviour was needed after all; the git wouldn't get anything otherwise. Alfred began to help him with the wound, cleaning it and gently bandaging it. While he was doing this, Arthur made a decision.

"Some people have strange dreams, Alfred," he said slowly, staring at the wall. "Dreams that reflect the situation in their lives, at times. I've had dreams like that many times in my life, but lately they've started to come back more often than I would like. It's always about a dragon..." He turned his head and watched the other man's tanned hands that rested on his wounded shoulder. "A gigantic creature with golden scales, and eyes as blue as the sky on a cloudless day. At first, the dragon was only a small whelp, a little hatchling, and I was feeding it and helping it grow. Then, as it got bigger, it began to hate me for wanting it to be careful, for wanting it to stay with me. Such a creature wouldn't need my help for a long time. So it attacked me, demanding to be allowed to fly away and live the life it should live..." He noticed how Alfred slowly looked up and stared at his face instead. "It left me crying in the rain, and flew off to join other dragons. It was still not as big as others, but strong enough to hold its own in a fight. And all I could do was watch, sit there on the ground and watch. And... Little by little, I realised that I liked to watch it fly around. I liked to see it grow bigger and stronger, stronger than the other dragons. It looked back at me sometimes, even came to talk to me after a while. But it never stayed with me, always ended up flying away and playing with its own kin again. I wasn't needed, because I wasn't like them. I was so weak, far too weak to ever be able to live with a dragon. And they made fun of me because of it..." He lifted his own gaze, staring right into Alfred's eyes. "I hated being so weak, hated it... But I was constantly reminded of it, by that very dragon no less. I couldn't do anything about it at all. But I tried not to dwell on it, and as the dragon spoke to me more often, I found myself falling in love with it. I knew that I shouldn't, that I couldn't love a dragon, but it happened. I couldn't stop it. But I could hide it, at least for some time. It was difficult, especially as the dragon teased me endlessly about different things, such as my weakness and how I was different. It told me that I might have been a dragon once, but now I was only a weakling longing for something I couldn't have. And as I decided to talk about what I felt..."

For a moment, Arthur stopped and watched the younger nation, a faint smile on his lips. Alfred was actually listening for once, taking him seriously despite the way he spoke about it all.

"The dragon laughed at me and called me crazy," the Brit said with a sigh. "I kept dwelling on that, long enough for it to leave a scar that I thought permanent. But I began to make a decision, and I started to ignore the dragon altogether, and this made it absolutely furious. It kept searching for me, called out my name and told me to come out... It roared in anger whenever the frustration was too much, but I kept hidden. I pretended not to see it at all. But in the end, the dragon found me and demanded an explanation, so I told it everything. I explained what I felt, how angry and hurt I had been... And the dragon actually asked me for forgiveness and said that it hadn't actually meant to hurt me. I wanted to give up on it all, so I simply said goodbye and walked away. I didn't want to be hurt anymore. But the dragon kept looking for me, kept coming to me to talk... I couldn't just tell it to get away from me, it would've been rude. And it's never a good idea to offend a dragon." He chuckled ruefully. "You're the dragon, America... You're the dragon I've chased for so long, the dragon I can't ever touch. Because you're not mine, because I'm not _supposed_ to be close to you. And I just have to accept that, but it will take some time... And it will hurt..."

Alfred stared at him, confusion evident in every feature. Arthur thought of him as a dragon...? And not only that, a dragon who apparently didn't understand what he was going through... But that wasn't true, was it? Alfred just didn't want Arthur to give up, not like this...!

"Surprisingly enough, just pricking my skin with needles takes away some of the pain," Arthur said calmly. "But needles are so small... So I tried it with a knife. But I might've pressed a little too hard, and then I slipped when someone started to bang on the door. That's all." He let out a weak chuckle. "I don't think I'll use that anymore..."

The American tensed and grabbed his old mentor's hand.

"For fuck's sake, Arthur," he breathed. "D-do you actually get what you're saying? You hurt yourself because of me, and... I... I don't... Please, Arthur, don't do it anymore..." He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. "I... I know that this is my fault... But I want to set it right again. I don't like seeing you like this, and knowing that it's my fault kinda makes it worse... I just... I want to help you somehow, but I don't really... I mean..."

Arthur sighed exasperatedly and wriggled his hand out of the stronger man's grasp.

"You really don't understand, Alfred," he muttered. "I don't want your help _because_ you're the cause of it all. So please, leave me alone."

Alfred held back an angry curse and insistently pulled the older nation into a tight embrace; despite Arthur's struggling, the American would not yield.

"I can't let the person I love go through this alone," he said sharply. "I'm not going to be that kind of a person!"

Arthur froze, staring out into nothing, and Alfred blinked in surprise over his own words; had he really just said that...? Oh shit.

"A-Arthur..." His voice wavered a little, and uncertainty wrapped itself around him when the Englishman didn't reply at first. "Arthur, I... T-that was... It was unfair to you... I'm sorry... B-but when I said that those words just fell out my mouth... I meant it, you know... I didn't know what the fuck I should say, a-and when I tried to think of something it, it, it just went straight to hell, and I k-know I'm a stupid fuckup, but I'm sorry, and I didn't w-want to h-hurt you..."

Arthur squirmed a little bit again, and this time Alfred wouldn't stop him from moving away. Emerald eyes stared warily at him, confusion and suspicion filling them to the brim. Neither spoke for a moment, as if the silence was too well needed, too precious to break right now. They both needed the silence to gather their thoughts.

"Why are you telling me this," Arthur asked after a while, his voice barely reaching higher than a just about audible whisper. "Why are you just saying that to comfort me, Alfred? Don't you understand that I want to move on? Do you have to keep me like this?"

Alfred bit the inside of his lip.

"I'm not lying," he said softly. "I wanted to say it back then, but... Well, you know what happened... It's like words just come out even though I don't want to say them at all... And... I was really happy about your confession, but it just... I was surprised, and I tried to think of what to say, and then it just... I fucked up, I know... But I never wanted all of this to happen, Arthur..." He closed his eyes and lowered his head. "I swear, I didn't mean for all of this to happen. I never wanted you to be in so much pain... I... I tried to tell you, but it never... I don't know why, but I just couldn't..."

Arthur reached out and clamped his hand over the younger man's mouth to stop him from saying more. He didn't want to hear it...

"Please, don't say more," he sighed. "Look... Even though I might not have to... forget... I need time. You hurt me badly, Alfred, and I... I'm not that good at forgetting things like that." He took a deep breath. "I don't know how much time I'll need... But... I won't just ignore you, alright? We... We can still talk, a-and all that... But at least you know that I'm..."

Alfred smiled a little and took Arthur's hand again, nodding slowly.

"I'll know that you're considering it, and I won't bug you about it," he replied. "I'll just wait."

They looked at each other for a moment, allowing the silence to come back. But just as Arthur opened his mouth to say something again, there was a loud knock on the door.

"America-san, England-san!" Kiku's voice was filled with distress. "Is everything alright? Can I come in?"

"It's fine, Kiku," Alfred called back. "We'll be out in a sec, okay?"

* * *

A year had passed, and it was already the fourth of July; Alfred was, as usual, rather excited about his birthday and had invited as many of the other nations as possible (meaning, the exact number that could fit in his large house – he had counted). And as usual, more or less everyone did come there. Australia said something about his koala being ill, and China had been rather tied down by paperwork, but other than that, everyone came to congratulate the young nation. Even England came, and actually seemed to be in a fairly good mood.

"After tricking my siblings into actually doing their part of the paperwork, how could I _not_ be in a good mood," he said when someone asked. "I finally get some time off, while they're tied down."

"Really, _Angleterre_, that is just cruel," France said, his eyes widening slightly. "But at the same time, I do believe that it's rather-"

"If you finish that sentence, I'll have to castrate you, you frog."

Somehow, the two managed to remain fairly civil during the party, but Arthur did still get quite many occasions where he was actually allowed to hit Francis for being a perverted idiot. Alfred could actually not even remember the last time he had seen them act civil around each other; they actually managed to keep a _normal_ conversation going for about twenty minutes. It was rather impressive.

"Did you swallow a rainbow or something," Alfred asked when he managed to stop Arthur from hitting Francis again (to be fair, the Frenchman had suddenly insulted Stonehenge, and some sort of retribution was required). "You've actually been talking to him for twenty minutes without hitting him."

Arthur shrugged and smiled.

"As I said, I'm in a good mood," he replied. "Is it not about time for you to open your gifts?"

The gifts were of course Alfred's favourite part. The Italy brothers had given him a painting and a cookbook (the last one was apparently South Italy's decision after visiting an Italian restaurant and hating the food), Kiku gave him some new video games, Matthew gave him a new book about geography (he was getting a bit tired of his brother's persistent "ignorance"), Ludwig gave him some movies (surprisingly enough, Alfred hadn't seen them before), Francis gave him something that he would prefer to not look at or even think about ever again... The list went on. But finally, he found the present from England, which was surprisingly small... It was a simple envelope, containing two things; a letter, and a picture of a large golden dragon. As Alfred looked around, he noticed that the island nation was nowhere to be seen.

"... Where did Arthur go," he asked and frowned.

"He went outside, eh," Matthew replied and curiously peered at the envelope. "A letter, you said...? Are you going to read it?"

Alfred hesitated a little bit, but unfolded the paper. Arthur's familiar, elegant and neat handwriting covered the paper, and the words were certainly not something Alfred had expected; but they were kind, and while he read it out loud, he felt a familiar feeling rise in his chest.

_Dear Alfred,_

_This might not be the best gift, I suppose. At least not at first glance. But if you would continue to read this, then maybe this will be acceptable for you, at least. Can I have your attention for a little while longer, only enough to finish this?_

_Do you remember what I told you about the golden dragon? It was a year ago, but I have no doubt about that you have kept it in mind. I have something to add to that story now. A little more than a year ago, the dragon finally told me what it felt. All along, I was fretting, but the dragon loved me all this time. However, I was still very frightened and hurt at the time, so I took my time to decide if I wished to take the risk. Because that is what it is, loving a dragon. A risk. It took me a long time to think of an answer._

_I have always been very frightened of hurting others and getting hurt as well... It stopped me from a lot of things I would have wanted to do. I always drove others away from me... But this dragon, even though he hurt me so much in the past, came back to me time and time again. Every time, it was as if he offered me to fly with him, but I never saw it... Now, I have an answer for him. Please, let me fly... I will need help, but I will fly._

_I cannot forget about my past; the memories will remain forever. I gave up the fight about forgetting them a long time ago, and I will not deny my fears anymore. I hope that you will not ask me to forget... But rather, could you come to me? I have made my decision. Have you made yours?_

_I am waiting, my dragon. You know where I am, so come to me._

_~Arthur_

For a moment, he only stared at the letter, and then glanced at the picture. Then, he got to his feet and ran outside on the porch; Arthur turned and looked at him with a small smile, tilting his head.

"Ah, you found it already," he said softly. "Well? What do you say?"

Alfred smiled warmly and stepped closer, gently pulling the older man into a tight embrace.

"You actually need to ask," he asked. "Seriously, Iggy... I came out here, didn't I? Right after reading the letter. And I'm hugging you."

A hand swatted lightly at him.

"Don't call me Iggy," Arthur mumbled, leaning his head against the taller man's shoulder. "It gets annoying..." He hesitated a little. "Look, I... It will be difficult, Alfred... I haven't forgotten, but... I just decided to take the risk... I-if... If it doesn't work out... Will you let me go?"

Carefully, the American loosened the embrace and looked into Arthur's eyes, a soft smile spreading on his lips.

"This is going to be the bigger cliché of the year," he said, "but I only want you to be happy. And if you want me to let you go, I'll do that. And if you ever want to come back after that, I'll be there. Can you trust me on that?"

He leant closer and kissed Arthur chastely, hesitatingly, as if he worried that he'd get pushed away. And at first, the Brit did freeze for but a moment; but as he slowly relaxed, he returned the gesture, threading his hands through the youth's golden hair. Just as Alfred attempted to deepen the kiss, the faint click from a camera called them both back to reality.

"This'll be framed and put on your wall, Alfred," Hungary laughed. "I swear that this is the sweetest moment I've ever captured with my camera!"

For a moment, the two men could only stare. The rest of the party had apparently been moved out to the porch, and more or less everyone was staring at them with wide knowing smiles.

"Ah, _amour_," Francis sighed. "Can there be anything sweeter?" Then, he looked pointedly at Alfred. "Oh, and _l'Amérique_, if you hurt _mon petit frère_, I shall personally tell his siblings. No mercy."

"It seems that everything has been solved now," Kiku said, smiling warmly at them both. "Congratulations, Arthur-san, Alfred-san."

Arthur blushed deeply and attempted to hide it by leaning against Alfred and hiding his face in the man's shirt, mumbling quietly about how embarrassing it was. Alfred only laughed and embraced him again, placing a gentle kiss on the top of his head.

"Get used to it, Iggy," he chuckled, making emerald eyes glare at him. "It's gonna happen again, whether you want it to or not."

A firm hand whacked him on the back of his head.

"Don't call me Iggy, you bloody plonker!"

* * *

**:3 Reviews are always loved~**


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